The Worst Day of His Life
by Christopher Kahlert
Summary: Krystal has been moping around Sargasso for a while now, and only Panther can get to the bottom of it. Panther will grab a beer and have a little chat with his beautiful blue space rose and make everything better. Some coarse language, mild violence, flashbacks, a nasty outhouse, and a reference to the oldest profession in the world.


Hunched over and face in the fridge, Panther's eyes scanned its interior. His left hand held a can of beer as his right pawed through the fridge's contents, hoping to find something to snack on. _Cheesy bits, old pizza, half a sammich... hmmm._ He grabbed the sandwich and looked it over. It was some kind of meat on rye bread. He frowned, and set the sandwich back down. _I don't know why she likes that shit, it tastes like cardboard. And how can she stomach all that meat? It's disgusting._

"Hrm. Nothing appeals to Panther." Giving up on his search for snacks, he closed the fridge door and walked over to the cabinets, pulling a glass mug from within. As he poured his beer, he admired the growing layer of foam and smiled. Once done, he tossed the empty can over his shoulder and into the bin, grabbed his now filled mug, and walked over to the nearby lounge.

Upon walking into the room he noticed the blue vixen sitting in a recliner near a large window that looked out into space. She was curled up, looking miserable and gazing at the stars and distant planets. She gave no indication that she'd noticed Panther walking into the room. He ignored the nagging feeling that told him something was bothering her and sat on a nearby couch before taking a swig from his mug. The foam tickled his maw as the heady aroma and the crisp taste filled him with contentment. He let out a happy sigh as he set his beer on the nearby coffee table.

"Hello Krystal, you beautiful space rose." She didn't acknowledge him, instead she continued to look out that window. He rolled his eyes. She'd been rather standoffish lately, but he still knew how to get her to talk. "Krystal, dear, you're looking rather blue today." She stiffened as soon as those words left his mouth. After letting out a sharp breath through her nose, she turned her head slightly to look the black cat in the eye.

"Panther, I want to be alone right now."

"If you wanted to be alone, you'd be in your room."

"Will you at least stop talking so I can enjoy the quiet?"

Panther blinked. He scratched at his chin and let out a sigh before falling completely silent. Krystal looked back out the window into the depths of space while Panther quietly sipped his beer. As soon as her thoughts began to wander once more, Panther decided to speak again.

"So why do you eat meat?"

"No. Shut up."

"Come now, Panther has pondered this for quite some time." He waited for her to respond. She didn't. She folded her arms before looking at the floor and growled. "You know, most civilized animals stopped eating meat when-"

"Yes, I know, damn it!" She turned towards Panther and leaned towards him over the coffee table, "You think I don't hear that all the time? You lot won't shut up about it. Gods above and devils below, why can't a girl eat a damn sandwich without some holier-than-thou prig lecturing her on the damn virtues of eating that nasty synth meat?" She continued to glare at him a while before leaning back into the recliner and trying to calm herself and slow her breathing. "If I tell you why I eat meat, will you stop talking for once?"

"I... Okay." He coughed. "Panther will shut up if you tell him."

She raised one eyebrow at his first person slip up before informing him why she ate real meat.

"It reminds me of Cerinia," she said.

"That cheap prostitute down in the lower levels?"

"No, you damn muppet, it's my homeworld! Back on Cerinia, we hunted, farmed, and ate real meat. Cerinians weren't a bunch of nancy boys like you Lylatians." She sighed as visions of Cerinia flashed through her mind. "I used to hunt with my brother and my cousins," she smiled as she recalled the memories, "I miss that thrill sometimes. I miss the satisfaction. I miss the taste of freshly killed wild boar. I miss my home," she finished with a sigh.

"You know Wolf used to have a pig on the team a while ago."

"And you know it's not the same. Wild boar doesn't think like us or talk," she snorted, "Besides, Pigma was a prick."

"Panther just thinks it's barbaric."

"That's because you're a pansy." She leaned back in her recliner and pulled her legs close to her chest. "Now, we had a deal, so let me be."

Panther looked down at his feet. For a few minutes, the room was silent. Panther had even forgotten all about his mug of beer, with its foamy head having dissipated while Krystal was yelling at him. They stayed like that, and Krystal could feel how her words had affected him. What she said was eating away at Panther, and while a small part of her wanted to feel guilty for how she made him feel, the rest of her enjoyed the melancholy radiating off of him. Making him feel this way, while not enough to lift her out of the slump she'd been in, had brought her some small amount of satisfaction. As her Cerinian mind fed on his negative emotions, that small empathetic part of her began to shrink even more.

Panther soon broke her from her reverie by opening his mouth again, "You know, someone else once called Panther a pansy." He was quiet as he spoke. And his tone brought that small shrinking part of Krystal, who was once so full of joy and empathy, to the fore.

The guilt came back and started growing, just a small bit. She reached down to her hip and pulled up her reflector. As she ran a finger over the engraving on the device's side, a single thought crossed her mind: _How did it come to this?_ She took a last look at the engraving and read it back to herself, "To our newest member, and my close friend-Your Fox," she smiled and replaced the reflector on her hip and looked up at Panther.

"Panther," she said with a sigh, "What I said was uncalled for, and I'm sorry, but I just want some quiet while I think about the home I lost." She wiped at her eyes before continuing, "Please, will you just give me tha-"

"It was many years ago during a Cornerian summer..."

* * *

"Your sister should have been the male, she's not a pansy like you."

Panther shifted his focus from the field to his father. The older cat was looking over the little league baseball game between his friend's team, the Corneria City Hellcats, and their opponents the Papetoonian Dune Threshers. The Lylatian Little League playoffs were in full swing, and the current game was taking place in the Hellcats' home field at the Cornerian City Sports Park. His father didn't bother looking towards his son, so Panther then looked over to his sister.

She too was watching the game with interest, though she did deign to give him a look out of the corner of her eye, before raising her brow and giving him an arrogant smirk. She was a daddy's girl, through and through, and a tomboy as well. His younger sister by a year and a half. She was also a monstrous bully, something their father encouraged as a way to toughen up Panther into a man worthy of the Coruso name.

He looked back down at his feet and sighed. His mother was no better. Worse, in fact. To the point where she hadn't even bothered fighting for custody of her children. She simply disappeared after the divorce. Panther supposed it could have been worse. His father had his moments, and he did have something of a point. Panther was a pushover. Everybody walked all over him. At one point he was bullied by a boy two years his junior and nearly half his size. And in a prestigious family like the Corusos, that was seen as something of an embarrassment. A major embarrassment, actually. It was something that irked his father, especially after the very public divorce between him and his ex-wife.

"You should have been on that team, out there right now, making me proud," his father sighed before continuing, "You used to like baseball, Panther. Now you flinch like a poncy little fagaloon any time the ball comes near you." He spat at the dirt, and shook his head.

His father didn't know, Panther hadn't told him after all. He remembered the shame he felt when he told his father he'd quit the team, but he never told him why he quit. Never told him how his teammates would pitch fastballs at his groin and face when he'd least expect it, or any of the other ways they'd find to harass him when the coach wasn't looking. Nor did he ever tell his father about that strange jaguar boy that ate handfuls of grass when he thought nobody was looking. He just stood there and looked upon the field once more, contemplating his father's disappointment in him. Lylatians took a few things very, very seriously; flying starships, shooting sports, and dying in massive space wars every few years for example. But one thing other than those things that they took seriously was baseball. Not nearly as seriously as those other three things of course, but it was still pretty high on the list of things to take seriously. And Panther's father was no exception.

After several minutes of watching the game with disinterest, Panther felt a pain in his stomach that was accompanied by a sudden urge to evacuate his bowels.

"Dad, I have to go number two."

His father sighed and then spoke without bothering to look away from the game,"The restrooms are down that way, over the hill." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, towards the hill in question. "Try not to ruin your pants."

Panther nodded and stood up from the bench quickly before making his way to the paved pathway that led over the hill and to the restrooms. He wanted to sprint there as fast as his feet would take him, but feared that doing so would inadvertently unclench his ass cheeks and prematurely let loose the torrent of liquid filth held within.

Down the path, up and over the hill he walked before he saw it: a small building comprised of two moderately sized restrooms. Quickly he went, his need to let loose a big deuce growing greater by the second. Before long he was stood before it: the entrance to the men's room.

He looked upon that yawning portal with dread. Some of the worst experiences of his life up to this point had happened in public and school restrooms. Most of them in some way involving the muck that one was more than likely to find in such places. Today would be no different.

The sickening scent was the first thing he noticed. The foul vapor was an impalpable wall of stink. It gently pushed against his face, offering an almost imperceptible resistance as he moved into the small room. The next thing he noticed was the sorry state of the place. The graffiti, the crumbling tiles, the way one of the stall doors hung at an angle, and the sickeningly sticky feedback he got whenever he lifted his foot to take another step all made him want to leave this room and sanitize himself. But then another pang struck his gut and he rushed to one of the three stalls situated at the back of the room.

He kicked the door in and felt his heart drop as he looked upon the defiled throne. The commode was overflowing with the ordure of many animals. Nearly as soon as he saw it, the miasma flitting through the air hit him tenfold, prompting him to bring his hand to his muzzle. He nearly puked at the sight of it, and the smell wasn't helping either. He tucked his muzzle into his shirt and quickly went for the next stall.

With his dominant hand holding his shirt over his snout, he reached out with his left for the door of the next stall. Upon touching it, the thing came loose and fell, smacking his face in the process. He cried out and wiped at his face, as that was the last place he wanted anything in this disgusting outhouse touching him. When he finished worrying over his face, he looked into the stall before him. The toilet was wrapped in plastic and crossed with caution tape. Another no-go. Panther let out a pained whimper as yet another stomach pang rang out. That left one last stall.

He nearly cried when he saw the state of it. Arranged on the seat of the toilet was a wall of dung, set in such a way that it resembled a sort of shit caldera. The way it sat there, the way it encircled the entire seat all pointed towards a premeditated act. Some sick animal, or animals, had taken the time out of their pathetic lives to arrange their own feces into some sort of disgusting monument to their own depravity. But this would not deter Panther. This was the cleanest, most functional toilet of the three. It would have to do. Panther would find a way to relieve himself.

He flushed it once, using his foot to activate the lever, making sure the thing functioned before he went about his business. Upon confirmation that it actually worked as intended, he carefully dropped his pants and shorts and positioned himself above the brown and earthy-green formation, hovering above it so as not to pollute the black fur of his rump. Carefully, he let loose with a throaty grunt.

After several minutes of squatting over the stool covered seat, Panther had finished, and relief washed over him. He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. He then looked over towards the toilet paper rolls and panicked at what he saw. Empty. They were all empty. He carefully waddled out to the other stalls to check those as well. Empty. They were all empty. He waddled back to the shit caldera and closed the stall door before letting out a ragged breath.

"Well, shit."

He stayed there, awkwardly half squatting half standing, and waited. _Surely somebody would notice before long,_ he thought to himself. And maybe they did notice. Or maybe they didn't. Either way, his father and sister wouldn't come to his rescue. He was left alone. And before long, sadness and despair set in. He began to cry.

Alone he sat, forgotten by those who should have remembered; left to cry and suffer in that rank, diarrheal hellscape. Nothing to keep him company but the distant sounds of children playing baseball, and the occasional face-like patterns he was able to make out in the filth surrounding him. In this place, time lost meaning, and Panther's tears streamed down his face. He didn't know how long he'd stayed there.

But after a long while, when he'd almost run out of tears to shed, he heard a sound off in the distance. The sound of plastic wheels, affixed to a cart, rumbled down the path, closer and closer until it was just outside. And soon, he saw a shifting of the light that poured in from the world beyond this grungy room of dreck and dross. The sounds of the cart echoed through the dingy shack and into Panther's stall, and for the first time since he set out on his journey to the public restroom of the Corneria City Sports Park, he heard the shrill, whiny voice of another.

"Great, the damn door fell off again," the voice said, before the man it belonged to hocked a big fat loogie into one of the sinks. It was the most beautiful sound Panther had heard all day.

Acting quickly, Panther wiped away all of his tears and called out to the man.

"E-excuse me, sir," he cried out, "can I get some toilet paper?"

"Oh. Hey. Toilet paper?" Panther heard the ruffling of plastic through the stall door. A few second later, he heard footsteps and a pink calloused hand reached under the stall holding a roll of single ply toilet paper. "Here ya go, kid."

Panther grabbed the roll eagerly and went to work wiping his rear. It was rough and coarse like sandpaper, and stung quite a bit after a few wipes. It was easily the worst toilet paper he'd ever use in his entire life, and in that moment it felt amazing.

As he wiped he heard his savior make his rounds, restocking the soap, toilet paper, and paper towels. After his last wipe, Panther flushed the toilet, zipped up his fly, and walked out of the stall. He took one look at the array of sinks and decided it would probably be more sanitary to not wash his hands here.

He looked over to the custodian, a short middle aged pigman, and gave him a nod before quickly running out of the room, eager to put as much distance between himself and that impossibly revolting shit shack as quickly as possible. He stopped at a water fountain and did his best to rinse his hands and face. After doing so, he threw his head back and closed his eyes before breathing in through his nose, enjoying the heavenly scent of the late-summer Cornerian air, made all the more pleasant by his time in that shithole. He walked back over the hill towards the ballgame.

Panther's breath hitched as he traveled back to the field. The time spent crying in the restroom still affected his breathing, but he reached the top of the hill before too long. Lylat, he noticed, had moved a fair distance through the blue sky, and it looked like the game had just ended. He wondered how long he'd been in there, and went looking for his father and sister.

* * *

Panther looked up from his feet, having just finished his tale. Krystal, his beautiful blue rose, was seated off in a corner of the room and further away from him than when his tale began. He didn't pay her much attention while telling his story. He had been too lost in his retelling of that day. He brought his hand up to his face and wiped at his eyes.

"That was the worst day of Panther's life," he whispered, barely audible even in the quiet of lounge they were seated in. He let out a ragged sigh before continuing, "But it was also an important day," his voice picked up, projecting his characteristic Coruso brand machismo, "That day was the first step on Panther's road to becoming the man that he is today. A man worthy of the Coruso name."

Panther sat up straighter as he said those words, and for the first time since he started his story, he looked over at Krystal. She'd been crying. _Obviously_ , Panther thought to himself, _Panther's story has moved her, and she feels for Panther and the pain he had suffered as a young boy. She regrets her cold demeanor and wishes to console Panther. She cares for Panther, as Panther cares for her._

"Krystal, darling space rose, please do not worry yourself on Panther's behalf." She bared her fangs at him as he said those words, but he paid her hateful expression no mind as he continued talking at her, "Panther put this ordeal behind him long ago, and-"

"Panther, I'm leaving."

"Oh? Well, on your way back, could you stop by that frozen yogurt place and pick up a few bowls for Panther and the rest of the team?"

"No, Panther, I mean-"

"And remember, Panther likes the chili-mango flavor with the little gummy bears on top, and Wolf..." Panther rubbed his chin thoughtfully before continuing, "Panther thinks Wolf likes the vanilla yogurt, and Leon very much prefers the strawberry."

The blue and white-furred vixen responded by activating her reflector, one of the only tokens she had left of her time with Star Fox, and fast-balling it at Panther's face. While Panther was convulsing on the floor, she left for the hangar with only the clothes on her back. She took the brand new Wolfen the team had just bought, leaving her Cloudrunner behind.

* * *

Author's Note:

My first fanfiction ever, and probably the longest piece of fiction I've ever written. That's not saying much, though. It's not quite where I wanted it, but I've been kicking it around for too long now. So I'll just throw it out to the wolves. Yeah. That's all she wrote.


End file.
